Buried Alive
by Sherlock221
Summary: John experiences one of the worst nights of his life when a hurt Sherlock calls and tells him he has been buried alive. It becomes a race against time to save him. Hurt/Sherlock Protective/WorriedJohn. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

A phone ringing woke John from his deep slumber and he groaned. He reached over to his bedside table and groped for the phone. Blinking his eyes to focus them, he reads the name of the caller. Sherlock.

John sighed and opened the phone, placing it to his ear. "Do you know what time-"

"John." The detective's voice sounded off.

John sat up in his bed and ran a hand over his face. "Ugh..Look, I'm sorry about earlier tonight. I was being a jerk and-"

"Please help, John-" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed.

John could hear the pain in Sherlock's voice and sat up straighter, throwing his legs off the side of the bed. This was a tone of voice John was not used to hearing from the consulting detective. "What's wrong, Sherlock?" John asked, in a stern voice.

John heard the man's shallow breath, but he did not respond. "Sherlock. Answer me!"

"I can't breathe. John, I-I can't breathe," Sherlock groaned. "I-m sorry, John." Sherlock's words wer slurred.

John was up and pulling on his pants as Sherlock spoke. "Calm down, Sherlock. What happened?"

John knew that Sherlock was hurt. Between his slurred words and harsh breathing, he knew it was bad. _Keep him talking. Don't let him stop talking._

"It's dark in here. I'm not fond of small spaces-"

"In where?" John interrupted. "Sherlock, where are you?"

"John-"

"Sherlock, dammit, tell me where you are!"

"They-..They buried me, John."

A/N Please let me know what you thought!


	2. Chapter 2

"Buried you?!" John exclaimed. Every emotion rushed through John in that moment. Even doubt. Maybe this was one of Sherlock's tricks. But he had never heard the great Sherlock Holmes sound so scared.

"J-John."

Sherlock's voice is shaking which makes Johns heart sink even more. "Where are you?"

For a second there is only the sound of Sherlock's harsh breathing.

John is already at the door pulling on his shoes and running down the stairs. He stops and the bottom of the stairs. "Sherlock, where are you?" He repeats.

"I-I don't know, John. That's the point," Sherlock states, with a hint of frustration in his voice.

John runs a hand over his face. Questions are running through his mind, trying to find the most important to ask. "Are you hurt?"

John hears Sherlock draw a deep breath. "I don't have long."

John steadies himself against the banister on the stairs. "How long?"

"Well, the smaller you are the longer you'll survive. I'm thinking this box measures 84 inches; width 28 inches, and height 23 inches. So it's total volume is 54.096 cubic inches, or 880 liters. We'll use that as the internal volume too, to give me a few extra minutes of life. And the average volume of a human body is 66 liters. That leaves 820 liters of air, one-fifth of which is oxygen, 164 liters. If an average person consumes .5 liters of oxygen per minute, it would take almost 5 and a half hours before all the oxygen in this box is consumed."

"But you're not the average person," John countered.

"Exactly. Which means I should have more time, but my height counters my weight. I'm taking up too much room. In addition, I was unconscious, which gives me even less time."

"Sherlock-" John interrupted, not wanting to hear any more.

"And I am, according to you, malnourished, but-"

"Sherlock! Stop talking. You're using too much of your air."

John can practically hear Sherlock nod as he tries to restrain himself.

"How long do you have?" John asks, trying to stay calm.

"Two and a half hours."

A/N Please review and let me know if you want me to continue this story!


	3. Chapter 3

_A/_N Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! They inspire me and make my day every time! **This takes place before Sherlock called John in the first chapter!**

_Sherlock's POV_

_30 minutes earlier_

When Sherlock regained consciousness he immediately knew something was wrong. First, he didn't know when he had fallen asleep. Then he felt a sharp pang in his head. So, didn't fall asleep then; knocked out. Secondly, he felt restricted. His arms were down by his sides and pushing them outwards, his hands connected with a wall.

_Just stay calm. _

_Take slow, deep breaths._

_Just stay calm._

_In, out, in, out, in, out._

He opened his eyes, or at least he thought he opened his eyes. There was nothing, only darkness. A quick feel of his eyes assured him that they were indeed open. His hand bumped into something only a few inches from his face. Long fingers roamed over the surface. The walls beside him were wood, but the surface above him was different. More like steel. He was in some sort of box. He had been buried alive.

_Just stay calm. _

_Take slow, deep breaths._

_Just stay calm._

_In, out, in, out, in, out._

There were flashes of being in the flat with John, then a fight, and finally giving in and going to the store to get milk. After that, everything went black.

He ran his hands along the metal in front of him and felt that it was one solid piece for as far down as he could reach. Walls were on all four sides of him, and the hard floor was not helping his back any. There was just enough room for him to fit in the space with a couple of inches to spare in either direction. The stone slab was too heavy to push up; he was stuck. The top slab was completely flush with the wood walls, meaning that no outside air was coming in. That someone better hurry.

_Just stay calm. _

_Take slow, deep breaths._

_Just stay calm._

_In, out, in, out, in, out._

Based on the size of the container, and if he could keep his breathing under control, he figured that he had a maximum of 5 hours of air. After that there would be too much carbon dioxide and he would lose consciousness before asphyxiating to death. He had complete faith that someone would find him before that happened. Dying was not something he wanted to go through.

A search of his pants pockets revealed that they were empty. Shit. Panic was not going to help him. John was probably already aware of his absence and would be starting a search for him. But John had mumbled he was going to sleep when Sherlock left the flat. There was nothing in his coffin other than himself. If he panicked he would start breathing faster, if he started breathing faster he would use up the oxygen more quickly, if he used up the oxygen more quickly then he would die more quickly.

_Just stay calm. _

_Take slow, deep breaths._

_Just stay calm._

_In, out, in, out, in, out._

If he closed his eyes maybe he could just sleep until he was found. He would consume less of the precious oxygen while asleep.

Anxiousness tore threw him. His leg kicked out and something flew against the wood wall. Reaching down as much as he could, his hand grasped and retrieved his phone. Sherlock smiled at this and began to drag his arm up. But as he passed his torso, a wet substance coated the bottom of his hand. He snatched the phone up to his face. Pressing a button the phone lit up. He shined the light down towards his side. And realization hit him.

Blood was leaking from a wound on the side of his ribs. Flashes of memory rushed through him and the sharp pain of what he knew was a stab wound tore through his stomach. _How did I not notice this? _He knew it was shock. His whole body felt numb. He began to breathe harshly.

Putting the phone down on his chest, he unraveled a scarf from his neck and cried out as he pushed it against the wound. Not life threatening. _Yet_, he decided.

Keeping one hand over the scarf, Sherlock uses his other to dial John's number. After a few rings his only friend picks up.

He can hear John sigh. "Do you know what time-"

"John."

A/N So now we know there is an injury Sherlock is keeping from John! Please let me know what you thought!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N I know this is short and I apologize for that, but the chapters are going to start getting longer and more intense, so I wanted to give you guys a little update first. Please review! Enjoy!

"Two and a half hours," John repeated, with an exasperated tone. He was still standing at the bottom of the stairs, shifting from one foot to the other.

"John-"

"Be quiet, Sherlock."

"I'm just trying-"

John balled his hand into a fist. "Shut up, Sherlock!" He yelled. "I know what to do. I've got this."

He could hear Sherlock nod again as the phone scratched against material.

"I'm going to call Greg-"

"Who?" Sherlock, questioned .

"Lestrade! I'll have him trace the your phone and then we will find you. Yeah, I've got this," John sighed. At least, he felt he did. But it failed to give him any comfort.

"No."

"Why the hell not?" John shouted, tightening his hand on the banister.

"It's a burner phone. Looks exactly like mine; I thought it was, at first. Only three numbers were programmed into it; yours, Lestrades and Mycrofts. It's-"

"Untraceable," John finished for him.

"Well, it's not exactly, but it would take too much time."

"Ok, I'll go to the yard, find Lestrade and we'll figure it out." John ran out of the building and onto the street, immediately hailing a cab. "Just stay on the phone and keep quiet."

John knew there were many solutions running through Sherlock's mind, but he wouldn't let him waste the air.

When a cab pulled up, he told the driver where to go and settled into the backseat.

John could hear faint rustling on the other end, but it was mostly silent. He wanted to keep talking to Sherlock. Keep him calm. But he couldn't risk it. Every breath was a countdown.

A/N I have most of this written out so please let me know if you are interested in the continuation of this story!


	5. Chapter 5

The air's definitely getting thin now. Sherlock can feel himself slowly growing sluggish. His breaths are becoming shallower, his body working on instinct to preserve what he can. He can hear John breathing, the sound of the cab making it's way to the yard and takes comfort in it.

"John." Sherlock rasps. His voice is quiet, he's most likely dehydrated, John thinks.

"Sherlock. Are you alright?"

The man snorts. "I've been better."

"We'll be there soon. We'll get you out." John can hear Sherlock take a shaky breath.

"Good, good." Sherlock's voice is tight, brittle, reminiscent of the time Sherlock had broached the subject of John's nightmares, when John had appeared in the living room at 3am to curl up in his armchair. John had answered in single syllables, his face blank. Sherlock had dropped the subject, realising that John needed the relative normality of their interactions rather than an ear. Sherlock had picked up his violin and lost himself in the familiar movements until John had nodded off once more. "The air's getting a bit thin, I think. I'm not dizzy, yet, so that's something."

"Good. That's good," John isn't sure what else to say. "Two and a half hours. That's more than enough time to find you." No it isn't, John thinks.

"Two hours and twenty minutes now," Sherlock corrects.

"I'm almost to the Yard-" John stops talking when he hears rustling around on the other end. "Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"Dammit!" He hears Sherlock exclaim, but his voice sounds far away. "John! The phone is about to-"

John's phone suddenly beeps to indicate the call has ended.

A/N Sorry for the short update, but I wanted you guys to know that I haven't abandoned this story and longer, action chapters are coming!


End file.
